


Tattoos and Confessions

by krowe (k_rowe)



Series: Mission Report [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Anxiety, Drawing, Foreplay, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Second Base, Slow Burn, Swearing, Tattoos, Touching, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7758838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k_rowe/pseuds/krowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason tries to tattoo Tim with Sharpies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tattoos

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted under username Absolutely, my generous friend who lent me her account before I had my own.

**Jason:**

 

After a survey of the apartment there was only one place left for Tim to be. Jason looked around the corner where the kitchen met the living room. A sensation in Jason’s chest made him feel lightheaded for just a moment. He repressed the feeling and leaned against the frame of the archway, arms crossed. He watched Tim for an indeterminate length of time, but Tim seemed oblivious to Jason’s presence. When it looked like Tim wasn’t ever going to react Jason cleared his throat. He said, “So I was looking through your sketches.”

Without looking up, Tim raised one eyebrow with vague interest. “The ones I intentionally threw away?” He was sitting on the floor leaning against the couch across the room from Jason. His knees were drawn up where he propped his laptop. The screen illuminated his features with unflattering light but Jason’s judgment was compromised. He thought Tim looked kind of irresistible. 

But he pursued a casual attitude like Tim’s. “You worked on them for days. I had to look.”

“I didn't like any of them.”

Jason frowned. He unfolded his arms, crossed the room in half the strides Tim managed it and sat down on the floor cross-legged in front of Tim. Who acknowledged Jason with a wordless, “Hm,” and kept staring at his screen. Jason said with a trace of bravado, “Because you never asked me for help.”

The clack of Tim’s typing stopped abruptly where he switched to his track pad. Jason leaned a little to one side to see around Tim’s laptop screen. So he could watch Tim’s eyes rove over words. Tim said absently, “So you're an artist too now?”

“I'm not awful.” Jason shrugged. “But I have to ask what they were for.

Still toneless, Tim said, “Nothing. I was just screwing around.”

That made Jason smile. A razz started to form on his lips,  _all by yourself? You should have called,_ or something dumb like that. But Jason elected to stick to his original topic. “Because  _if_  you were thinking about getting a tattoo I have a couple suggestions.

With a spark of curiosity in his eyes, Tim looked over the top of his laptop at Jason. “What makes you think I want a tattoo?”

“Oh, the self-contained composition, limited color palette, graphic styling— and your Google search history.” Jason smirked.

Tim looked back at his screen and resumed typing, with a renew bored expression. “World's Greatest Detective, everyone,” he said with great sarcasm.

“Will you just look at my ideas?”

“I'm sorry, Jay. I’m too busy right now. Maybe later, okay? I have to finish this report for Officer Kim. She's taking the case against O'Connor to the District Attorney—”

It was childish, but Tim wasn’t going to see: Jason rolled his eyes and the corner of his mouth turned down in a disappointed scowl. Two beats later, Jason brightened just a little, smiled conspiratorially to himself. Jason said with forced nonchalance, “Of course. That's ok. You just keep working.” Jason got up, headed through the doorway. Had he looked back over his shoulder he would have seen Tim lean around his laptop and watch Jason’s butt until he was out of sight. Jason returned shortly none the wiser. He sat down in front of Tim again, picked up Tim’s left foot and started drawing on the pale flesh stretched over Tim’s metatarsals.

He looked up at the sound of Tim erupting into laughter. Tim said, between suppressed snorts, “What are—?”

Triumphant at finally distracting Tim, Jason smiled. “Relax, it's not like it's permanent.”

The corners of Tim’s mouth twitched when he tried not to smile, acted like Jason’s delicate hands brushing his foot was no big deal. “Well-- hey! _That’s a sharpie!”_  

Much like the way Tim had shown general disinterest, Jason turned the tables and ignored Tim’s flashing eyes and fixated on his drawing. “Eyes on your own work, Mr. Drake.”

 

**Tim:**

 

Torn between annoyance and a thrilled hum in his head, Tim summoned his best poker face and went back to work. More or less. Especially as Jason turned Tim’s foot this way and that to continue the designs that crept up passed Tim’s ankles, Tim’s eyes flickered to Jason. Repeatedly. Gradually Tim’s face became redder and his sneak peaks more frequent, more obvious. Jason’s continual skin rubbing against Tim’s made his attempts to focus on work absurdly futile. Eventually Tim just partially closed his laptop, still balancing on his knees, and plainly watched Jason. He saw that Jason was then working on adapting one of Tim’s designs, based on the Fibonacci sequence, and had made it beautiful. The edges of the design bled into even more pieces, some organic, some rigid geometry all strung in endless compliments. When Jason’s designs ran into the cuff of Tim’s pants he switched to Tim’s right foot, which Tim surrendered keenly.

Being that the spring was a cool one, Tim had chosen that morning to wear fitted exercise pants the length of high water jeans. In truth, they were marketed as capris for tall women but as long as no one teased him about his height Tim continued to wear them. Tim assumed that Jason would go as far as the hem of Tim’s pants, like he did the left leg. So Tim was surprised when Jason started to roll Tim’s pant leg up. “Um,” said Tim. “Aren’t you done?”

It was only the second time Jason looked at Tim since he started working. His eyes had been teasing before but by that point they were intense and very, very blue. Jason said quietly, meaningfully, “Am I?”

Words stuck in Tim’s throat. Then, hoarsely, “No. I, I don't think you are.” 

Jason responded with a smile. It was not wicked or ironic or teasing or even happy. It was a strangely, genuinely charmed smile.  _Or passionate?_ It actually made Tim a little uncomfortable so he was grateful when Jason broke their significant gaze. Being that Tim's pants were of the compression variety, Jason had a hard time revealing more skin on Tim’s legs. So Tim finally put his laptop aside because Jason reached for Tim’s hand. Something was different that day and it wouldn’t do to split his attention anymore. Tim extended his hand with minimal reservations. He decided to go on the offensive, turning the mood in a more neutral direction. “So, do you have any tattoos?

“Really, Tim?

“Wh--at?” Tim’s voice had wavered slightly when Jason turned Tim’s hand in his bigger, slightly tanner ones. Desperately, Tim tried not to tremble when Jason put his Sharpie to the pad of Tim’s middle finger. But he felt a spasm of excitement cross his face anyway. 

Appearing oblivious to the biological reaction he was causing, Jason said impassively, “You've seen them.”

That distracted Tim marginally. He didn’t shudder like he would normally have when Jason pulled Tim’s fingers toward his mouth and blew a little to dry a thick, dark patch of permanent ink. With a little confusion, Tim said, “When?”

“Like, every time we changed in the same room. Before and after missions, in the base. 

The silence stretched on and the ink crept down each finger, so tight and detailed Tim’s skin was getting swallowed up. His knuckles, the planes on the top and sides of his hand, every inch of his palms, the tender underside of Tim’s wrists. He was so enthralled by the strokes, the little lines blurring into thick ones, solid patches and a few intentional bare spots, Tim could barely string his thoughts together. It got a little easier the higher up Jason drew because that skin is not as sensitive, but it also forced Jason to crowd Tim for a good angle. Jason must not have expected Tim to reply when it took Tim so long. Eventually, Tim stammered, “I— never looked.”

“Bullshit.”

“I mean, we were partners. Not, like,  _romantic partners_. Professional. It didn’t feel right to stare.”

One eyebrow cocked so high that it was easy for Tim to catch, even though Jason’s face was bent low over his work. “Then I suppose when you  _did_ catch a look at me— and don’t pretend you didn’t, I saw you— I just assumed you had seen what was on my hips. But I should have known you were too shy to stare that far from my chest and arms.”

There was no point denying his occasional stray glances over the years. Maybe he had caught a glimpse of the tops of the ink but had not lingered. “Yes, I was.”

The other eyebrow rose to match the first one, both almost into Jason’s hairline. “Past tense? Not so shy anymore?”

They both knew it was a meaningless taunt. It was true that Tim and Jason had not been terribly modest changing in front of each other for much of their early partnership. For Tim’s part he faced the practicality like locker room shower stalls. They’d even expanded Tim’s original utility shower in the base— for really messy nights— so they’d both fit with some privacy. But things had changed. Tim had become so shy around Jason’s nakedness neither one had used the shower downstairs since _… we touched._ Speaking so low Tim could barely hear himself, he muttered, “You must know.” Tim’s chest tightened.

Abandoning the pretense of detachment, Jason suspended his progress on a koi fish. He searched Tim’s face with critical eyes. “I must know what?”

“You're still terrifying to me.”

Jason’s expression turned to affection. “Well, you're adorable to me.” 

Tim snorted, in spite of his intensifying anxiety.

“Don't,” said Jason with dismay.

“Don't what?”

“Ignore what I said.”

Tim sighed, anticipating what he was sure was going to be a punchline. “I didn't ignore it. I acknowledged your joke.”

An impatient growl from Jason startled Tim. He wondered if he’d been wrong, but the way Jason looked at him was peculiar. Both frustrated and illuminated with  _something._ Tim couldn’t find a word for the look, especially when Jason frowned at the same time. What had Tim done wrong? Tim was rooted in place, watched Jason rock forward onto his knees, felt hands glide over Tim’s knees, down Tim’s outer thighs. Jason braced his upper body on either side of Tim’s hips. Apparently Tim had done nothing wrong. Probably the first "right" thing in a week, even if he didn't know what it was. Tim was breathless, didn’t even realize his knees parted to let Jason lean in closer, broad shoulders and ribs skimming Tim’s inner thighs. 

The instinct to both run and embrace the intimacy warred inside Tim. He hitched up his knees as if to back up if he could. But he was pinned between the couch and Jason’s warm body and it made him gnaw his lip and it was the only place he wanted to be and his head swam with unfamiliar befuddlement and he formed impulsive nervous smile— “God--!” he gasped.

 

**Jason:**

 

Fingers he couldn't believe were his own trailed down Tim's cheek, traced along Tim’s jaw, stopped at his chin, which Jason held gently, firmly. Obliging Tim to return Jason’s ardent gaze, desire with desire. Jason watched the blush erupt in Tim’s cheeks and creep along his nose and to his ears. Tim's face broke in his goofy smile; was also breathless and it took the wind out of Jason too. Jason leveraged Tim’s chin upward with his fingers, compelling him forward, so close already. Their lips met with hesitation but together found one breath, one sigh. It was a long kiss and romantic. When Jason thought Tim was pulling away he meant to follow suit, but instead, Tim gave Jason his tongue.

It wasn’t like Jason had not tongued anyone before. Obviously. It was clear Tim had his share of practice too— hell, they’d even fucked up a couple brief make out sessions together before— but with Tim, that time, it felt new.  _Like a virgin. Damn Madonna._ Any fleeting thought of the 80s pop icon were extinguished; Tim’s fingers were in Jason’s hair, nails curled into Jason’s scalp. There was nothing else to think about, except how much he wanted to nip and maul Tim’s bottom lip. And other things. But he only nipped and mauled Tim’s bottom lip before he was quite sure Tim wanted it. He definitely did.  _God the kid is… not a kid anymore._

Tim’s brow constricted and he moaned quietly and grew more aggressive when Jason bit him harder.

“It’s. Not. A. Joke,” murmured Jason between kisses. Then he withdrew only a few inches to form a real sentence that was worth stopping for: “Tell me this isn't real.” 

Tim closed the inches and smiled into a kiss. “What were we talking about?”

Jason fisted Tim's collar with one hand, the other supporting his weight against the couch. The one hand on Tim brushed Tim’s neck. Tim bubbled with reflexive laughter but he stopped shortly because Jason’s fingers slipped down Tim’s chest, paused to stroke Tim's nipples through his shirt. Then Jason eased his fingers between the buttons of Tim’s shirt.  _Who the hell dressed this mess? I don't care how hot you are: you can't mix neon-accented running pants with a Paul Smith London dress shirt._  “Honesty. We were talking about honesty, as in, 'I think you're adorable' and 'I never liked this shirt'.”

“Me neither.”

Mid passionate kissing, Jason yanked the shirt open, popped several buttons and Tim winced. Jason wondered if he hurt Tim because he stopped kissing. Then Jason realized Tim was trying to hastily shrug out of the shirt. Jason put one hand calmly on Tim’s half-bared shoulder. Tim stopped moving, except his chest rose and fell irregularly. With infinite more grace and sensuality than he had just displayed, Jason slowly, so slowly but steadily, peeled Tim’s shirt off his pale, bruised and scarred arms. Tim shucked the rest off and tossed it aside.

They looked into each other’s eyes. Finally, Jason vocalized what it was  _his_  gaze was trying to say. “Lie down,” he said, more as a suggestion than a command. It didn’t matter how he phrased it. He felt awful immediately because the words made Tim go very pale. Tim opened his mouth but seemed unable to speak, or didn’t know what to say because he looked very lost. Jason’s face fell into wretched anguish and he tried to salvage the pieces. “I mean, if— Only if you want to. Of course.”  _Fuck. Where's that god damn filter?_

Tim looked just as strung out. “I do, Jason. Shit. I do. But I'm— I don’t—  _god damn it,_  I don’t know.”

_God I’m such an asshole._ Jason’s brows knitted, he ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I know, I’m sorry. Shit. We talked about this. Do you want me to leave?” He looked meaningfully at their present proximity. He hated how big a part of him didn’t want Tim to answer. Because Jason was sure he knew what Tim would say. He even started to withdraw, but Tim grabbed him by the elbow.

“Stay. Finish,” said Tim.

He might as well have been electrocuted. “But— you just said— we haven't actually  _started…?_ ”

“I mean, oh god. My tattoos, Jason. I meant 'finish my tattoos'.”

The asshole devil on Jason’s shoulder groaned inwardly but, really, honestly, Jason didn’t give a damn what the little shit thought. He was smiling like an idiot. Because Tim had said, “no” in his quintessential awkward, authentic manner. It made the space between them feel like an embrace. Like their bared hearts were tethered in that moment.

“Right,” said Jason with a stupid grin. “Tell me where you want some more.”

Jason recognized Tim’s expression as when he puzzled through a mystery. Piqued interest, thoughtfulness, consternation, revelatory then confident. After what seemed like a very long time to Jason, but really happened very quickly, Tim took Jason's palm, and put it Tim’s own lower abdomen.

“Okay, but now I feel like I’m getting mixed messages.” Jason’s eyebrows met in a downward, mystified curve. Not quite smiling, like he dared not play into some joke. 

“Are you alright?”

“What— I— shit Tim. What do you— or don’t you— want me to do?” 

“Just a little ink. I saw someone else do it so low. It looked… hot. To see it spread out from under his waistband.

Jason’s mouth twisted into a hungry smile he tried his best to look normal. “I can do that.” His fingers twined around Tim’s drawstring. “Will you show me just a little more? For art. To get the look right. I won’t touch. If you don't want me too.” 

“For art.” Tim smiled back. “How much?”

The bow unwound to loose strings in Jason’s one hand. He hummed, thinking, then, “I didn't look either you know. Didn't want to make it worse. So, I'm curious. Is it  _all_  black?

The blush that had appeared when everything started intensified. “Have a peak.”

Jason skimmed Tim's underwear waistband down his hips a couple inches. Tim arched back a little to make it easier. Then Jason pulled them down some more, because Tim apparently shaved  _well_  below his belly button. Jason eventually uncovered the tidily groomed peak of his dark, close-cropped hair. Just a glimpse of it. Jason’s hand hovered over Tim's exposure, sorely tempted to take more than Tim was willing to give; so desperate to kiss the protruding hipbones, the bared flesh, the soft black hairs…  _Nope, nope and nope._

As if Tim knew Jason’s impulse and imagined them too, Tim’s hips twisted involuntarily in his seat. He said softly, “Is that all?” His eyes repeated the plea.

Tentatively, Jason stroked the finger's width of hair he’d uncovered; bit his lip like it was Tim’s. Then, experimentally, so gently, Jason pressed his thumb into that part of Tim’s pelvis. Tim closed his eyes tightly and set his jaw. Jason released the pressure, figuring he was pressing his luck or interpreted Tim all wrong. But Tim nodded, smiling deliriously, so Jason pressed again, harder, and spread more fingers over Tim in a circling motion.

Shortly Tim’s met his tolerance and he inhaled sharply. “Ok, ok. That’s-- that’s enough Jason.”

Of course Jason desisted immediately. “I’m going to start my drawing now. Is that okay? It’ll be quick.”

“Yes. That’s—” The pressure of Jason’s sharpie distracted Tim. “That’s fine.”

Jason retracted the pen and grimaced. What was he doing to Tim? Tim was practically unraveling in front of Jason. Not like,  _fully_. But Jason knew the tense wrinkle between the eyebrows, the forced calming breaths, the faint glisten of sweat; that awful discomfort when you try to master yourself. Jason said, significantly, but also pretending like he didn’t notice what Tim was trying so damn hard to hide, “Tim, if you can't hold still I'll do it somewhere else.”

“Do it everywhere,” said Tim.

Two eyebrows shot up. “I thought you were busy. ‘Everywhere’ will take a while.”

“Mark me yours.”

"You are  _awful_  at puns."


	2. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason tattoos Tim with Sharpie and they share secrets.

**Jason:**

 

“But, anything for you,” he said. Then paused before saying sensitively, “But I do actually need you to lie down this time.” Jason stood and cracked his back and shoulders in several places while Tim complied hastily. Carefully considering the best way to approach the angle, Jason eventually stepped over Tim’s body and knelt, straddling Tim across the tops of Tim’s thighs, his own legs and knees snug against Tim’s. 

He had to decide what to draw next, how to incorporate the very, very alluring patch of Tim’s pubic hair—  _Stop staring. You’re not 12—_ into a suitable design. Jason almost wished Tim had not requested such a provocative place. But Tim had, so Jason steeled himself and tried to imagine it was only a doodle. After long consideration, frequently interrupted by Jason’s wandering eyes, Jason settled on using the hair as the base for a drawing of a club. It was cheesy he knew, but the important part was it was fast and not sexy. He didn’t need any more reasons to pause. Jason was careful to fill in the hair,  _just like touching up eyebrows_  he told himself. So when he plotted the cloverleaf silhouette it would all be uniform black.

And the designs grew upward and outward from there. Occasionally a mandala or a tessellation approached the curves of Tim’s hipbones but he did not stray so low again. Just for good measure Jason rolled Tim’s waistband back up and worked on in silence. Tim entertained himself looking over his tattooed hands and arm but eventually relaxed and closed his eyes softly like he was napping. Jason started to think that it might just take all night after all. His designs became more intense and more detailed as time passed. They transitioned from abstraction to chemical formulas, concentric circles, and constellations, even quotes. He channeled art nouveau and Book of the Kells heavily. But most frequent of all were painstakingly detailed, big and small pieces of sacred geometry. Based on Tim’s Google search history Jason knew that Tim was very fond of it. Jason had found Tim’s cache of links to explanations and meanings; about a million tabs queued up for reference.

Eventually Tim was covered in permanent ink from his pelvis to the top of his ribs stopping at Tim’s pectorals. Jason had to change positions to reach them comfortably. He inched forward carefully but not carefully enough.

Tim’s toes curled and he looked away.

“Are you alright?”

Tim nodded wordlessly and kept staring at the wall.

Had he been able to face Jason, he would have seen that Jason’s expression was tormented all over again. He was visibly torn between Tim’s specific request to draw on him, his repeated encouragement— and knowing that Tim just wasn’t ready for the kind of intimacy they’d been toying around for hours. He didn’t know how to fulfill them simultaneously.

“Please, don’t stop. I’m okay.”

Jason grimaced. “You’re horny as hell.”

“I’m almost 20.”

Jason almost laughed but resisted. “You’re a horny as hell 20 year old virgin.”

Tim narrowed his eyes to slits. “Your point?”

Jason groaned. “It’s just— you seem pretty wound up. If you need to  _be alone…_ ” His cheeks colored, making his faint freckles stand out. He waited for Tim to say something but he realized nothing was coming. “What do you want me to do?”

Tim fisted the hem of Jason’s shirt and used it to pull Jason down to kiss. Jason couldn’t get his reservations out of his head and his part of the exchange was lackluster. It was not typically a problem. Because, well, nobody  _didn’t_ want to have sex with Jason.  _I mean Tim’s obviously conflicted. I know he wants to, he said as much. But he just wont._ Jason didn’t think it was anything religious but he’d never asked. When he dwelt on it, as he often did, he figured it more likely that Tim was just hyper focused on work, something of a very late bloomer and anxious as hell. _But he_ has _proven he can enforce barriers and, usually, communicate feedback. Oh, what the hell._ Jason dowsed his misgivings and met Tim’s desperate kisses with earnest ones.

Absently Jason laid hands on Tim’s chest where his fingernail scraped one of Tim’s nipples. Tim moaned sharply.  _Ah shit. There I go again._

Tim said, dazedly, “Stop asking me what I want. I told you to keep drawing.”

“Yes sir.” He dutifully resumed inking Tim’s chest, up to the slope of his shoulders, bulk of his biceps, the whole time dithering whether to leave Tim’s nipples unmarked or if he should go back and ink them too. While he was deciding, Jason even finished the arm he’d started ages ago. The designs from Tim’s shoulder and his forearm met beautifully. He was quite impressed with himself. Then Jason sat up on his knees to both appraise his work from a better perspective, and to give Tim space to move. “Here, roll onto your side.” 

As he did Jason noticed a wrinkle in Tim’s nose and that crooked smile that Jason loved so much. Tim only made it when he didn’t mean to. “What is it, Tim?”

“I’m just… glad it’s you.”

Jason flushed all the way to his ears and tried to stop his own crooked smile. “Dork,” he said with more affection than he meant to give away over some dumb, mushy comment. He assumed business as usual. He elevated Tim's arm out of the way to imply Tim rest it elsewhere out of Jason’s way, but before Tim rested the crook of his elbow over his head, he paused to cradle Jason’s cheek in mutual, comfortable silence.

From his fresh angle Jason filled in from Tim’s armpit to the last rib. But he suddenly shifted course and picked up the incomplete designs from Tim’s stomach. He slowed his pace and dawdled over complex designs, eventually moving upwards from Tim’s hipbones. The storm of lines gradually converged on one unmarked spot about three inches long and half an inch wide below Tim’s last rib. It was a scar so ugly to Jason he’d been dreading seeing it when he realized which side of Tim’s body he’d picked. Now, Tim had lots of scars, even fresh, colored bruises Jason had just incorporated in his art. No big deal. But Jason knew  _that_ scar better than his own and it made him sick with self-revulsion.

No, it was not a scar Jason gave Tim. But it was the conspicuous, crude, permanent proof that Jason. Failed. Him. It didn’t matter that Tim survived. Jason was paralyzed imagining that all the dark smudges of ink all over his hands was Tim’s blood; so much of it on Jason’s hands it spilt through his fingers.  _I wasn’t there._

“What is it? Jason, what’s wrong?” The scar tissue he’d been so reluctant to touch, that he’d intentionally avoided, was covered by Tim’s arm when Tim shifted stiffly to look at Jason with wonder.

It relieved Jason it was obscured.  _No. You coward. Face it._ Jason gently pushed Tim’s arm out of the way so he could grace the scar with fingers. “I thought you were dead.”

Tim frowned but seemed already weary of the subject rather than annoyed. “Jay, it’s nothing.”

“I still dream about it,” mumbled Jason.

“That was two— almost three years ago.”

Wretched self hate and guilt turned bittersweet. “It's been a hell of a ride with you, Tim Drake.”

Brightening when Jason did, Tim pressed the new direction of their conversation. “Yeah? What was your favorite part?”

No hesitation. “The first time you fell asleep in my arms. You were delirious with exhaustion. You kissed me on the chin because you couldn't reach my mouth and called me Jaybird. Drooled on me too.”

“I did not.”

Jason shook his head with an expression of reverie. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “It was two months ago. 

“You definitely drooled.”

Tim’s eyes became slits. “Fuck you, Jason Todd.”

“God yes,” he blurted.

Tim’s eyes widened comically and he became very red faced. “Oh my god.” It was hard, but Jason found the grace to not say anything else. Tim pre-empted the response he expected from Jason and asked, “How much longer do you think this will take? Just curious. I’m a little sore.”

Jason paused over his work. “ _You_ are sore?”

“You're  _sitting_ on me,” muttered Tim. Then, even quieter, “You’re kind of heavy.”

Jason smirked. “Yeah and I’ve been hunched over for hours. Imagine how I feel. But, honestly, I’m used to it with you. 

Tim shot Jason a withering stare over his shoulder. “I thought we were passed the short jokes.”

“Honey, you can't even reach them. How can we pass them?”

 

**Tim:**

 

Rather than rise to the bait Tim dropped the subject. He tucked his chin to survey the art all over his chest and arm. Like he already had. About a million times. It was like he’d never seen it before, every time. He pressed one inked palm against his naked one. The blank hand looked indecent in comparison. He resolved to suffer through the night if only Jason would keep going. How he was going to persuade Jason to cooperate Tim didn’t know. How he was going to hide it from people Tim didn’t know. That was when a thought occurred to him. “You know, Dick wanted to spar the day after tomorrow. I don't suppose this will wash off by then.”

Jason laughed.  _An actual, honest-to-god un-ironic, unscripted, unexpected belly laugh. It’s the end times._ When Jason recovered he said with ill-contained mirth, “Are you shitting me?”

When Jason was done Tim resolved to call in sick for work tomorrow. “This is going to take all night, isn't it?”

Jason shrugged. “Well, I have incentive to finish sooner.”

“What’s that?”

The pen was stuck behind one of Jason’s ears so he could use both his hands to trace the lines all over Tim’s body, even over the scar. “I want to admire my work when I hold you. And huff sharpie off your naked body while we spoon.”

“Unlikely. You know I sleep in underwear.” Well, the spooning bit was very likely. They’d hardly spent a night apart in the last month. Tim scooped up one of Jason’s hands and kissed his palm. It tasted like smudged sharpie.

 

**Jason:**

 

Kneeling forward, Jason bit Tim's ear, pulled at the sensitive flesh and kissed around his teeth marks. Then, after Tim’s keen murmurs became more, Jason whispered between kisses, “I know that. But wear the red ones. They’re the shortest.”

“Mmmm,” was all Tim managed.

With some difficulty Jason found his feet. He appraised his work and tried not to look too proud. “Still got another side, one arm, both legs to finish and your back to do. But, I need a break. You could change now if you want. And skip the shirt tonight. I meant it when I said I was going to look.

By the time Jason returned, Tim had changed into his red briefs, which were, as Jason remembered, shorter than Tim normally wore. His knees were drawn up, exposing his battered legs. From his distance, it looked to Jason like Tim was rocking some awesome socks. The tattoos were still only as high as Tim’s previous hem. And Tim was still shirtless since they’d ruined his dress shirt. Tim’s laptop was still on the floor, long since abandoned. Tim had moved to the couch and browsed his phone. Jason leaned against the archway frame just the same as he had hours ago. Like before, Tim seemed oblivious to Jason’s appearance. But rather than feeling bored and neglected, Jason felt warmth and tenderness and something like what people call happiness.

When Jason shifted his weight Tim looked up. He smiled. “Nice sweater, Jay.” Jason had picked out his favorite Black Canary sweater because it matched the black shorts Tim had requested.

“Nice booty shorts, Bae,” said Jason, trying out the nickname for the first time. It didn’t roll quite right. “Alright, Little Man, on your stomach. I haven't even started your back.”

“I should warn you I'm ticklish.” Tim discarded his phone to the floor next to his laptop and readjusted his position to his stomach.

“I remember.”

 

**Tim:**

 

“You never did give me another back rub,” said Tim, feeling a little gypped. The first— and last— was at least two years ago.

For what Tim thought was a casual conversation, it took Jason forever to reply. Tim chocked it up Jason concentrating on balancing on the couch, finding the right position. But even when Tim figured they were both settled, Jason resting on the back of Tim’s thighs; Jason was rigid.

“Jay?”

“It was too painful. Too intimate. It hurt to be that close to you.” Jason closed his eyes and tried to imagine what he wanted to draw on Tim’s back but all he could picture was the time he struggled to repress his attraction trying to do a favor for Tim. Kind of like today. “I couldn't see a time you would ever want me to touch you…” Jason stroked one finger down the length of Tim’s spine who shivered under his touch. “… The way I wanted to touch you.”

Tim closed his eyes. “That was a long time ago. How long—?”

Having made up his mind, Jason pressed the intense, fresh ink to Tim’s skin just to the left of Tim’s spine bellow the shoulder blades. It glistened as he made a parallel line to the one he’d just made on the other side of Tim’s spine. “How long have I wanted you? I don’t know. I didn’t even know for sure  _then_. You were a kid and I was lonely. But when I did realize it, it was enough that we were together. For a while.” Jason hitched Tim’s underwear down a few inches to continue the lines. Tim inhaled sharply and tried valiantly not to move. But Jason’s hand was steady and the lines met cleanly in a steep point in the shadow of Tim’s crack.

“But you did kiss me. That one time.”

Tim’s words hung between them. Jason’s mind kept jumping between the tattoo and all the things he wanted to say, or weren’t ready to say and how to make them come out in any sensible order. While he thought, the tattoo became quite elaborate and branched out into myriad styles like the front and arms. “It was a moment of weakness. I was crazy enough I thought that, maybe, you were starting to want me to. 

“I think, looking back, maybe I did. And just didn't know or, or maybe I did but was just too scared.”

Jason raised both eyebrows marginally. “But you are still scared. You said so earlier.”

“I am.”

Jason closed his eyes with a sinking feeling. He did not want to ask why. He was sure Tim was going to say something like ‘you come on too strong’, or some BS about violating Bruce’s code, or he would remind Jason about the times he’d tried to kill Tim. There were a million and more reasons Tim should hate and fear Jason. Jason just wasn’t sure he could take it right then. But he asked; because he really cared. “Why are you afraid?”

When Jason felt Tim try to roll in place, Jason rose onto his knees to let him. Then, when Tim was on his back and looking comfortable, Jason lowered himself again over Tim. The way they’d shifted in the transition, Jason’s knees were to either side of Tim’s armpits almost.

So it made it easy for Tim to put both hands, one tatted to the finger pads, the other unblemished, put them both on Jason’s thighs. Jason’s throat became dry. Then Tim smoothed his palms up Jason’s bare thighs, raising goose prickles wherever he touched. All the way up to the hem of Jason’s shorts where they stayed, shaking just a little.

 

**Jason:**

 

The blush Jason expected to finally turn Tim’s face the color of a fire engine— it was gone. He was pale instead and tears glistened in his lashes. _Oh damn. He’s even sexy when he cries. Why is he crying?_ “Tim…”

Tim said quietly, “Because everyone I love dies.”

There was a broken place in Jason. Something three years with Tim still had not ameliorated. Not even the three months since hey kind of both fell into uncategorized feelings of attraction. Maybe the PG rated and one or three PG-13 mishaps helped  _distract_  Jason from his hurt, but the one thing he thought might help was  _The L Word._

Cuddling in front of a movie or sneaking kisses on patrol never seemed like the right time to say it out loud. He’d been on the verge of blurting it out during workouts, while sewing up Tim’s wounds, while making breakfast, emptying the dishwasher, squatting at a vacant lakeside mansion to watch the sun set; for as much as a year he’d ached to say it. But that day, in Tim’s arms, filled with his smell, his saliva in his mouth, enthralled by that look in Tim’s luminous blue eyes, savoring the hours alone together— it felt okay. He sure as hell wasn’t going to wait anymore. Not when the word was still on Tim’s lips. He would not keep his secret in his dark place anymore. “I love you too.”

In their wordless excitement Jason bit Tim’s lip very, very hard and drew blood. It didn’t stop them from kissing, not at first. But after a minute Tim said, “Jay, Jay—” and pushed Jason away by the shoulders, just far enough to reluctantly break the kiss. 

“Yes?"

“It's the blood- it tastes really gross.”

Jason laughed and wiped Tim’s lip with his thumb. “I’m sorry Tim. Ah, damn. That’s going to leave a mark.”

Tim only sighed. “Don't let that stop you from nipping elsewhere.”

“Tell me.”

Tim cast his damp lashes down, flitted between his prominent bare nipple and Jason’s parted lips. Jason smiled knowingly and obliged Tim. Jason propped his fingers to either side of Tim’s ribcage, to hold Tim still while he probed around Tim’s nipple with the tip of his tongue; opened his mouth to kiss the areola aggressively; sucked on it luxuriously; sure he felt it stiffen in his mouth. He was already tired of prolonging the tease. As tired as he’d been holding onto his confession. He closed his teeth around the hardened nipple, feeling it pull away when Tim’s chest fell, Jason biting more, harder when Tim’s chest rose again. Tim stifled a moan before it passed his lips, by biting down on his own knuckle.

The one nipple was bruised and sore before Jason was done with it, then he turned his hunger on the other. After, he jokingly bit the tip of Tim’s nose, which made them both laugh like giddy idiots. It eased some of the sexual tension they both felt. But it was Tim’s blaring ringtone, Stephanie’s cheerful invitation to the new Star Trek movie the next day, and the long, cold showers they took on opposite ends of the apartment that arrested their compounding arousal. And let them both grin stupidly in private about  _the L word_ they shared _._

For the record, when they did settle into bed together Jason hugged Tim from behind like usual, their legs overlapping as normal. Tim wrapped his arms around his much-abused pillow Jason once spilt his aftershave on and nodded off before Jason. Like always. Jason spent a long time scouring with his eyes Tim’s back and neck and shoulders and folded arms. He trailed fingers along the designs that turned out best or just the body parts within reach he most enjoyed. When he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, Jason kissed Tim between the shoulder blades and murmured, “I love you.”

Nothing was different but everything had changed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This is a revised (still early draft— sorry!) excerpt from my in progress fanfic. I already had a “tattoo” scene partially done, so I hastily fleshed it out for Jaytimweek2016. I felt compelled to add some/excessive backstory exposition I hope you didn’t find too tedious/boring. It’s not in the original because we’ve already suffered together through two-three years of slow build tension!
> 
> But without it this scene lacked, what I considered, relevant context for the awkward, early stage of their physical relationship. For the purposes of concision— and some fan service— I increased the pace and depth of their intimacy here. Also cuz I’m charitable. And most importantly, left to my own devices, my burns are soooo slow even Jaytim diehards will abandon me before they get to the good stuff. (I’m exaggerating, a little.)
> 
> If for some reason you wish there was more, I apologize but I’m not posting any more of my long fic until I’m finished. No unfinished stories, no bizarro posting schedules. That being said, I project to finish it around Christmas at my current pace (which I call “withering snail”). It’ll round out around 70k-100k?
> 
> But have no fear!! I will post "tangents" and loose tie-ins based on my fic here in the meantime, under my series "Mission Report".


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